


Books and Mirrors

by GreatWhiteShark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatWhiteShark/pseuds/GreatWhiteShark
Summary: Slytherin Prefect Prince Lotor goes through a crazy adventure called love with a certain Ravenclaw student.[Lotor x Reader] [Harry Potter AU]





	1. Future Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Lotor, prefect of the Slytherin house, has interesting adventures with his Ravenclaw friend.

 

 

 

Green and silver.

Lotor didn't like the green color of his house scarf. He always thought it stuck out too much, clashed too much with his skin tone, and made him an eyesore to look at. Of course, fashion wasn’t the reason why he was sorted into Slytherin house. Nor was it the reason why he even attended this school in the first place. He was here to learn all he could and if he had to wear this horrendous color, then so be it.

He rubbed his hands together to try and maintain their warmth, despite thick, wool mittens already keeping his fingers well-insulated. Snowflakes were kissing his nose, his freckled cheeks, and even dusting his eyelashes in a white, soft veil. Just down the brick road, he would finally be in Madam Puddifoot’s shop enjoying a warm cup of his favorite tea. He could sit in his comfy corner and catch up on some reading, maybe even enjoy a sweet biscuit, too.

Green. Such an  **ugly**  color. Silver was not bad, silver was much more to his liking, but if he had to pick his favorite, it would be…

With a shove, he pushed open the wooden door as the tell-tale sound of a bell jingling announced his arrival. Nebulous eyes spotted the typical late-night owls. Sendak, Shiro and, what was his name? The short angry one. Keith? Yes. A few other patrons were chatting amicably amongst themselves as he took his usual vacant seat. Perfect view of the exit plus two walls against his back. Old habits die hard, even when thousands of miles away from danger.

The cup on the table filled to the brim with piping hot tea and he could already smell the fresh floral scent of lavender. Madam Puddifoot was a blessing, already knowing his order by heart. The Prince unraveled his stifling scarf from his neck, nose crinkling a bit at that distasteful color again. Green.  _Ugh_. It was such a disgusting color, was such a loud shade of green, that it painted him as an obvious target. After he folded and placed it by his side, Lotor removed his mittens then glanced up to study the people.

If he had to pick his favorite, it would be...blue.

His gaze landed on you, sitting adjacent to his corner and adorning the Ravenclaw scarf around your neck. Blue was nice, it suited you. It suited him. Blue and purple? Come now, that was a  _perfect_ combination of colors. Lotor’s cold hands greedily wrapped around his tea cup as he brought it up to his lips, the heat melting any trace of winter on his sharp features. Still, he was staring at you, staring at that nice shade of deep, navy blue covering the lower-half of your face. If he squinted hard enough, he could see your lips moving against your scarf while you read off a piece of parchment.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You’re late. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

Already, you could feel the heated stares aimed at your back as you hunched your shoulders in a bit of shame. Sheepishly, you smiled at your professor then took your seat besides a stoic Prince Lotor. His book was open, cauldron already simmering with ripe ingredients, and he was completely focused on the task at hand. Or, at least, so you thought. Once the professor had passed by, he sent you a piercing side-glance.

“I thought you Ravenclaws were intelligent,” there was no malice behind his tone, but a light snark that almost made you snort in response, “Class started 15 minutes ago.”

With a quick wave of your wand, all your materials laid out in an orderly fashion on your side of the table, “I was, uh, reading. Lost track of time. It happens to everyone.”

“Is that the excuse you tell your fellow housemates?” Lotor nodded his head to the table to your left, a playful grin spreading on his lips “You do realize you are a terrible,  _terrible_ liar.”

“I’ll be sure to study up on how to lie properly in the future,” a joke, a smirk, and soon a small chuckle emitted from him, “But right now, I really should catch up on...what are we making today?”

“Page 78.”

Once you flipped to the correct page, you blinked as a certain eager light flicked on behind your eyes. One of the  _forbidden potions_. The  **Love**  Potion. Ashwinder eggs, peppermint, pearl dust. Yes, yes, good, you had the ingredients so far. Except two. Immediately, your nose wrinkled in annoyance, seeing that you were missing powdered moondust and rose thorns. Rose thorns were easy to acquire. The other…

“You are missing two ingredients.”

“Hey,  _hey_ , I know that,” as luck would have it, you did not need them immediately until the brewing period was close to ending, “I know  _exactly_ where to get them, too.”

“Really now?” that amused tone again, the bastard, “Like how you knew  _ **exactly**_ what time class started?”

This time, it was you who chuckled in mirthful humor. He had a certain charm to him, you’ll admit.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lotor never really expected anything once the owl’s came flying in. Gift deliveries from family and distant friends was not something he grew up with, so over time, he learned to keep his wishful thinking low. Or rather, non-existent at this stage in his life. Though, he still couldn't help but watch the birds flutter and drop presents rather majestically in front of their partner’s table. It wasn’t until he saw you did his attention switch from boredom to mild curiosity.

You weren't smiling, but you there was hope shimmering  _oh so_  brightly behind your eyes. Lotor could see it even from a few tables over. Expecting, you were  _expecting_  something, and even after all the deliveries were finished and no more owls filtered in, you were still looking up. While everyone else eagerly shredded their packaged presents open with little “Oh, yes! A new broom!” or “Yay, they really sent me a warmer cloak!” you finally caved in and heaved a sigh with shoulders slumping in defeat.

Disappointment. It was a  **bad** color on you.

It wasn't his business to pry. It  _really_ wasn't, but his determination to know why you had such a forlorn look on your face was strong. Lotor crossed paths with you on his way back to the dorm rooms, or rather, you almost walked into him. Head down, eyes on the floor, you only stopped an inch away when you saw those toed-boots coming into your vision. Slowly looking up, you could read the inquisitive nature written all over his face.

One brow raised, head tilted just the slightest, lips set in a line but eager to speak a question. He was calculating something in that head of his, something he had to dance around before outright asking you. No, he may be housed in Slytherin, but he was raised with proper etiquette, proper mannerisms. After a few blinks, Lotor leaned on one leg and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking the end of his scarf in the process.

“I see your head is in the clouds today,” he was mocking, but it certainly did not come off as poking fun at you.

Either you got used to him or he was losing his touch.

“I was thinking. I do it all the time. It’s a normal thing, you know,” you replied with a somewhat firm tone, but his pointed ears could pick up the buried feelings.

Lotor, ever the dutiful prefect, began walking towards the Ravenclaw dorm wings with two things settled in his mind. One, he needed this walk, this time to reflect on the day and, to put it bluntly, speak to you. And two? Well, he won’t admit this out loud and he would  _gladly_ pin this on his gentlemanly nature, but he also wanted to make sure you wouldn't get hurt wandering back to your room. Of course he knew you weren’t purposely being an airhead. This time, his gut told him you were telling the truth.

You were thinking  _ **too**_ much.

“A knut for your thoughts?”

“It’s gonna cost more than a knut.”

Finally, a joke out of you. Flat, but it was something, if that small smile tugging at the corner of your lips was anything to go by. Had Lotor been in a more impish mood, more eager to pick on you, he would have made some flippant comment back. Something along the lines of “Best I can do is two knuts” or “A knut and I will not tell your house prefect you were wandering in the wrong corridors.” Instead, he folded his hands behind his back and waited for you to speak.

He could handle silence. He was a patient man. 

“I...was hoping I’d get something in the mail today, that’s all,” you shrugged one shoulder as if brushing off the creeping sadness, “I mean, Christmas is nice and all but I - eh...it’s not  _really_ \- the whole family time together thing just - did you get anything?”

Ah, yes. The classic diversion when speaking about something uncomfortable.

“No, I did not,” he admitted, “I do not celebrate Christmas.”

The two of you stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face each other. It was unfair how much taller he was compared to you, towering over you by simply standing there. A hand came up to rub at your neck, that blue hue of the scarf appealing to him more and more, then you discreetly scanned the empty hallways. No one else was around and yet you still kept your voice hushed, like you were about to tell him a dirty little secret.

Instead, what you asked made him raise both of his brows in surprise.

“Do you - I don't know - do you wanna try  _celebrating_ it with me? I mean, like a gift exchange, not the whole...Since, well, seeing we both didn't get…?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Palm reading was, in your honest opinion, a bunch of  **bull-fuckery**.

Although it was a requirement under the class curriculum, the idea that your future could be read by lines on your hand just did not sit well with you. Logically, it didn’t make sense, either. You can tell the age of a tree by its rings, but determining the unknown from looking at a hand? Part of you wondered if you could actually learn this magical teaching passed down from the witches and wizards of old.

Maybe they could see something you couldn’t.

“Okay, let’s see here…” you gently held Allura’s hand in yours, palm up of course, “This is your life line and it’s long so that means you’ll have a...long life.”

Meekly, you grinned at her, hoping she bought it.

“And that is your head line. It’s, mm...medium length, but kinda forked at the end so…” your brows knitted in confusion, turning to your open book for translation, “You’re brave and protective, but have an... _insecure_ heart?”

She tilted her head and sent you a doubtful but encouraging smile, “Are you sure that’s correct? It seems a bit contradicting, doesn’t it?”

Dropping her hand, you leaned back into your seat then rubbed your cheek, grumbling to yourself for this failed reading, “I mean,  _technically_ , isn’t all of this contradicting? Aren’t bodies always changing? So, like, your skin too? I don’t know, this lesson seems... **bah**.”

Allura flipped through a few pages, reading what was written to understand a bit more before she tries reading your palm. Every student had a different capacity for magic and, as luck would have it, she was more attuned with it than most. She motioned for your hand and you gladly offered it, open and all.

“Hm, I am not quite sure if I can do a proper reading on your palm. There’s this white line here I am unfamiliar with - “

Immediately, you pulled your hand back, laughing nervously at your moment of forgetfulness, “Ah, ha ha, no, that’s just,  _uh_ , that’s just an old scar. Here, try this hand instead.”

Allura decided not to bring it up, but her curiosity was piqued, and that scar did look quite jagged, “Very well, now, hold still. Mm hm...life line is a bit of a wiggle and it crosses past your ring finger, so that’s a good sign. Oh, but this crease, do you see these two lines? Right here, they’re very close to one another.”

You leaned over and squinted, trying to see what she was talking about.

“This line, the thicker it is, the more intelligent you are,” her fingertip trailed over the shorter one, “But this one that runs parallel besides it? It means you have a hard time accepting it.”

Well, that was way more accurate than you expected. As a Ravenclaw, there was always the stigma that intelligence was a critical trait among your peers. But you didn’t want that. You wanted something  _more_ , something more worthwhile than being known as that one smart Ravenclaw chick. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you excelled in the knowledgeable areas, but book smarts was not why you attended Hogwarts.  _Never_.

There was  **more** out there and you would die before accepting the magical world as it was on the surface.

“Huh,” you scratched your cheek, eyes flicking to a certain dark purple classmate sitting on the other side of the room, “Hey, does it say anything about cool friends in my future?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was a full moon tonight, something Lotor appreciated even more now that the day was winding down to an end. Between Divination and Astronomy, he finally had time to put his knowledge to the test. Professor Trelawney seemed out of her mind and maybe part of him didn’t believe in the whole bit about being able to see into the future, but it still fascinated him to at least try. From the Slytherin balcony, he gazed up at the moon, at the stars and planets and the never-ending deep space, then closed his eyes.

 **Darkness**.

Was he supposed to feel something? Or... _see_ something? Before he closed his eyes, he saw the constellations of old. He saw the glow of the moon. Perhaps he was supposed to hear something instead? But no, nothing but the faint hoot of wild owls reached his ears. This was ridiculous and part of him did feel foolish for trying this...this...this spell! Maybe if he focused harder, tried to feel the magic drift down from the stars -

A scarf. A familiar blue scarf faintly faded into his vision, but it was too dark to see it clearly. It was floating, neatly folded just as he first remembered seeing it from across the tea shop. The Raven emblem was stitched meticulously three squares from the bottom of the wool fabric, centered as a testament to the house name. Ravenclaw, the intelligent, the creative, the wise house.

Then, he heard the sudden sound of  ** _shredding_**. Tearing. Invisible, sharp claws tore at the scarf like paper, ripping it and ruining what was once pristine and perfect. Something was fiercely pulling it at the ends, tugging as if fighting over the last piece of meat. Dark, it was  _too_ dark to see anything but the scarf, until the sounds stopped as soon as they started. It was in tatters, unfixable and laying on the ground in an ugly heap of rags. It all happened in a matter of  _mere_ seconds.

Lotor snapped his eyes open and took in a shuddering breath. His heart was pounding in his chest at how real, how  _raw_ it felt when his senses witnessed the decapitation of that clothing. Calm, he had to calm his heart and take deep, steady breaths. Clawed hands gripped the stone railing as an anchor, as a way to support his shaking knees from buckling under his weight. That was so damn vivid.  **Real**. The Prince's wide-eyed gaze drifted from his nails to the snow-covered land then...to a figure wearing a blue scarf sneaking close to the Forbidden Forest.

It was a full moon tonight. You needed powdered moonstone. The man instantly connected two and two together. A scowl marred his lips and he turned to rush out of the Slytherin chambers. So much for an intelligent Ravenclaw, recklessly traversing where no student should this late at night. Sneaking off the grounds was easy, especially with Kova being his guide, but once the tall, dark trees came into sight, the cat left him alone.

_You fool. You **absolute** fool._

The sound of a twig snapping caught your attention and you quickly swiveled around, tip of your wand lit low enough just to illuminate the calm water at the bank of the lake. A familiar tall figure stepped into the light and, although you were relieved it wasn’t anything scary bumping in the night, his stone-cold expression still surprised you. A cross of his arms, as if waiting for an explanation, and you lowered your wand slightly.

“Are you  _mad_? What are you doing out here?” you bluntly asked and, oh geez, those were the wrong words if his glowering eyes were anything to go by.

“What do you mean ‘What am I doing out here?' You must be  _ **bloody**_ daft!" he spit back, shoulders raised in defense, “If you wanted powdered moonstone so badly, you could have just asked to borrow some from me instead idiotically risking your life.”

“That’s not it, I didn’t  _want_ to ask,” you weren’t stubborn, you were just curious, “I wanted to see...Look, the full moon is out tonight and I wanted to see the moonstone myself -”

Lotor shook his head in disapproval then stepped closer to you when you shied away from him, “We are leaving. Right  **now**.”

“ _No_! Just give me a minute, please? I just want one, that’s it!”

The Prince scowled at your stubbornness and he was just about to use force if you kept rebelling against him, but the second the clouds parted and moonlight filtered through the trees, both of your attention switched to the serene waters. One by one, bland rocks began glowing in a faint hue of yellow, until they were just as bright as the light coming from your wand. A soft “ _Ooh_ …” left your lips while the argument faded in the back of your mind, eyes now wide with pure wonder.

Now that... _that_ was a good look on you. Beautiful, even.

“Hurry up,” he commanded just as a wolf howled in the distance, much too close for his comfort, “We must return at once.”

“Thanks, Lotor! I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Snapping out of your moment of awe, you quickly gathered at least a pound of moonstone into your satchel. Once you stood next to him, stupidly proud of your accomplishment for the night, he guided you out of the bleak forest with a hand on your lower back. Now that both of you were out of immediate danger, his mind was able to relax and really consider the one question nagging at his skull.

What  _exactly_ was he doing out here?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop always had the finest of bindings in their book spines. Lotor’s fingertips drifted over the expertly tanned leather, skin enjoying the smoothness of the etchings on the cover. Yes, this one was nice, perfect even. At least, in his eyes. But was this the right one for  _you_? This is why he didn't celebrate Christmas. Having to think, truly  _think_ , about what to gift others was a hassle and he knew what he liked did not always apply to others.

Especially you.

After that fiasco with the forest and sneaking the both of you back into the castle, he was still feeling bitter. Lotor scolded you for potentially risking yourself, yes, but he couldn't blame YOU that he was out there by his own free will. He could’ve left you alone, could’ve trusted that you knew how to defend yourself, but part of him started to wonder why he even spent more than a few minutes thinking about the what-ifs.

He knew why. It was that  **damn** vision that spooked him.

Of course, the ever eloquent Prince he is, avoided such confessions. No,  _no_ , it was better to just punish you for being too eccentric in your quest for knowledge. Too dedicated to water your thirsty mind by letting your curiosity take its course. He can’t lie to himself, it really was a sight to behold at the lake, but was it worth the danger? Was it  _truly_ worth risking being killed? To you, yes. But to him? Absolutely not.

Lotor knew how to get you to listen to his words.

_You could’ve gotten expelled. Then where would you learn about magic?_

The logic was sound to you, oddly enough.

“Hey Lotor, filled up your dream journal already?”

It was Shiro, prefect of the Gryffindor house, who pulled the Prince out of his lingering thoughts. In all truth, his dream journal was not even past the first page. Professor Trelawney will not approve of that at all. Shiro peered down at the journal, the blue-dyed leather with the insignia of a wave imprinted across the front.

“Oh, no, you are mistaken,” Lotor nonchalantly flipped through the blank pages as if testing to make sure it was, indeed, a book, “This is not for me.”

“Mmhm,” Shiro nodded in thought then placed a hand on his chin, “Is it for that Ravenclaw - “

“ **No**.”

Cue the smug grin on that damn Gryffindor’s face. A catty grin, a  _knowing_ grin, and if they weren’t close friends, the Prince would’ve turned around and left him standing there all by his goofy self. Lotor frowned then sighed in defeat, knowing that Shiro would never let it go if he didn’t come clean now that he outed himself. 

“ _Yes_. Yes, it is for her,” he admitted and his friend nodded as if he knew all along, “She asked if I would...participate in celebrating Christmas with her.”

“Christmas? I thought you don't like Christmas?”

“I do not.”

“Huh.”

If Lotor relied on anyone’s opinion, it might as well be his close friend, “Is this a worthy gift?”

Shiro’s eyes softened when he asked that one question, knowing that his friend was actually seeking his advice over something quite important, “Lotor, the Prince who could get half the school on their knees with his presence alone, is now hesitant in the face of a journal.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, ”Do not mock me.”

“I’m not, honest!” Shiro shrugged with his hands up in surrender, “It’s the truth. You could get anyone, but you don't. You’re  _picky_. Not because it’s a bad trait or anything, but it’s because you’re clever. You know what you want, you’re an observer.”

Lotor clapped the book shut with one hand.

“You don’t need my advice, Lotor. You know that,” Shiro patted his friend’s back, trying to give him an ounce of confidence in his choices, “...But, if you’re looking to court her, I heard from Pidge that she likes the color green.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“- and an ounce of powdered moonstone.  **Fresh** , potent powdered moonstone.”

You read the instructions to yourself as Lotor stirred his cauldron. The potion was not nearly ready and he knew it would take another few days to finish it. The professor graded on quality, not quantity, so he took his time trying to perfect it. Though, he will admit, without your potent moonstone, he may not have had the chance to create such a refined potion in the first place.

“Hey, Lotor?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for not ratting me out,” you grinded the stone in your bowl, working it to a find dust, “I, uh, really appreciate it. I thought you’d turn me over like an omelette. And you’re right. About the...reckless thing.”

“Of course I was right.”

“Oh, c'mon, I’m  _trying_ to apologize.”

“Well? I am waiting.”

You purse your lips, knowing he was picking on your again, even if he was trying his best to suppress that haughty smirk on his face. Willingly giving him a moonstone gem for this love potion was just the start of your apology. You knew you messed up and, unfortunately, it was in your nature to venture into the unknown to discover. To  _learn_. Surely he could understand such a thing? But dragging him in danger was never your intention.

“I’m  _sorry_. There.”

“Apology  **not** accepted.”

“Buh - !”

There was a smug twinkle in his eye when you scoffed in surprise.

“Okay,  _okay_ , I am sorry for being A Big Stupid,” you paused, “And for putting us at risk.”

Now, Lotor turned to face you.

“And?”

“And I won't do it again, geez,” you couldn't help but let out a small laugh because, well, you were actually enjoying this weird banter, “...Not unless you want to come with me next time.”

“I believe that night was enough fun for me, thank you.”

“I heard Mothman lives in the forest.”

“Mothman does not exist.”

“How do you know? Did you see him?”

Now, you were just egging him on. With a shake of his head, Lotor pulled out the next ingredient needed for the potion: rose thorns. He could have simply bought thorns at Dervish and Banges shop, but something convinced him to ask Professor Sprout for a fresh rose instead. Not just any rose, either. Not a red one, but rather, a black one. She had questioned him about it, explaining that if he was to give it to someone he likes, red was more of a romantic gesture. A sign of blooming love interest. Better chances of wooing someone for the Yule Ball.

One by one, he carefully clipped the thorns off and left half in your bowl. You didn't ask him, but he knew you didn't have any thorns, unless you once again traveled into the forest for a mere plant. If giving you a few rose thorns prevents another catastrophe like that night, then he would gladly throw a few your way. A honest, thankful smile from you had Lotor’s stomach stir in...odd feelings.

“Do you smell anything in yours?” you leaned closer to the lip of your cauldron then wafted your hand over it, bringing the scent to your nose, “I don’t have anything on my end.”

Lotor followed suit, but alas, he did not recognize any scent coming from his potion. Part of him was slightly worried he did something wrong, mixed in the wrong ingredient at the improper time, but he made sure he was meticulous in his work. No way, maybe it just was not done yet. Maybe this smell would come by closer to the end of the brewing period. That had to be the answer.

“No, nothing over here, unfortunately.”

“Huh. Well, it is still a few days until it is finished,” you closed your book, packing away your supplies, “Love potions are hard to make, after all. Anyways, see you in Divination later?”

A nod from his end while he quickly scanned over the instructions once more, just to make sure he didn’t mess up somewhere along the way. But, unknown to you, he had another reason for avoiding your eye contact. Shiro’s words echoed in his mind _, If you’re looking to court her,_ and the black rose was right there. Lotor planned this from the very beginning, but why was he hesitating?

He can lie to others, but he can’t lie that there was something he wanted to explore with you. However, while he was teetering between his thoughts, you were already walking away from him. Nebulous eyes watched forlornly while his mind admonished him for keeping his tongue caged. That would have been a perfect moment! A  _perfect_ time to ask if you would permit him to learn more about you on a deeper, intimate level.

And, well, he wasted it. You were gone and the rose was  _mocking_  him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You think he’ll like it?”

Silence.

“I think he’ll like it.”

Again, no response, except a flick of Kova’s tail while she perched on Narti’s shoulders.

You were sitting across from her in the library, hand garnishing a smooth, round black orb. Normally, no one would bother to look twice at this thing, but you made it. You poured your soul and hard work into polishing this blue sandstone until its magical properties took form. Finding a gift for Lotor was harder than you thought simply because, well, it was difficult to even know what he liked. The only thing you heard from his close friend, Acxa, was that he likes to hold things. 

Hold things. How  _vague_ was that?

So you sought out to find this gemstone. Within it, it was almost pitch black with speckles of white imitating galaxial stars. But, depending on who holds it, a different nature takes form. Right now, the interior of the stone was sloshing in deep, azure waves, toiling and circulating to imitate your emotions rather clearly. Your mind was unsure, going back and forth on your decision whether this ball was worthy for the Prince Lotor. Acceptance was always a weird trait for you.

The orb was just as chilly as if you were touching ocean water with your bare fingertips.

Kova’s paw landed on top of the gift and you took that as a good sign.

Or the cat wanted to playfully bat at the round toy.


	2. Historic Significane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Lotor glimpses at what his heart desires, yet he can not help but wonder if it is true or a skewed figment of his imagination.

 

 Lotor clinked the mugs then cheered with his fellow teammates, the drink inside sloshing with the rough movement. Simultaneously, they chugged together and reveled in the warm butterbeer heating up their bodies. They needed this, all of them, in order to play Quidditch at their top form in the middle of winter. Those winds were as merciless as Slytherin’s Head of House, Dayak.

“Zethrid, try to send a Bludger towards that Lance fellow. A little birdie told me he has not quite recovered from his cold yet, so expect him to be weak in the air. Ezor and Acxa, keep to the quaffles, though watch yourself with their team captain, Shiro. He has gotten stronger since last game and I would hate to see any of you fall off your broom from a - “

The Prince’s attention snapped to the flapping drapes as your face peeked in through the slit, eyes searching for who he could only assume was him. Once you spotted his tall self, you grinned and waved eagerly while granting yourself permission to enter. Technically, no one but Slytherin were allowed in. Though, judging by the looks of his teammates, they certainly won’t be ratting you out to anyone.

Friendly visits  _should_ be allowed, anyways.

“In any case, do not break formation if a Bludger chases me. I can handle it. Now, pardon me,” he excused himself from the group then approached you with a raised brow, “Hm. Last I checked, you were not on Slytherin’s team roster this season, little Ravenclaw.”

“Pfft, what? I can’t come and wish you guys luck?” you peered over his shoulder, shouting an encouragement to his team, “By the way, good luck out there you guys! I’ve got 5 galleons on you!”

A round of chuckles came from Zethrid and Ezor, two of your pals who knew that if you did win that bet, then you would at least treat them out for a job well done.

“A peculiar way to boost morale among my team,” Lotor grinned, leaning his chin on the edge of his broom, “Thank you, dear. It does them good.”

“Ah, I’m not done.  _This_ ,” you shuffled closer to him to use his body as a barrier from prying eyes then pulled out a sizable rock from your pocket, the smooth oval stone fitting perfectly in your palm, “is for you.”

The plain stone, it was emitting a very faint orange color.

“It’s a thermal stone. Something to keep you warm so you don’t freeze your ears off up there,” a tone of pride was laced in your voice, “I checked the rule books and  _technically_ , it’s not illegal. I doubt those garbs are enough to prevent frostbite anyways.”

Lotor was staring at your face while you spoke, only half paying attention to the rock in your hand. His mind was more preoccupied with the fact that you were willingly giving him this thoughtful gift for...for what reason? He was well-adapted to the cold, so was this a sort of repayment for earlier in the forest? Or were his eyes playing tricks on him and that blush on your cheeks was caused by something other than winter’s kiss?

“I want this back when the game’s over,” he accepted it and noticed that it instantly warmed his entire body, better than any butterbeer could do, “It’s my favorite stone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite Lotor’s different eye colors compared to the other students, he had very sharp vision. It helped in useful situations, like catching the Golden Snitch or noticing you in the far distance, but it only worked if he was mindful of his surroundings. As of now, the game was over, and Slytherin had won. As expected. No injuries, thank goodness, yet as he laid in bed with that stone in his hand, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what he saw in your hand.

Or rather, in your palm. There was a old, jagged scar, like it was cut with broken glass or a piece of ripped steel.

Sure, Lotor had his own scars. Several, in fact, but his were from fights and battles and training incidents. Maybe you accidentally cut yourself picking up broken shards? Or was it inflicted by a sharp talon when you tried to handle your owl? Questions,  _questions_ , yet no answers. The stone was still warm, after all this time, and his tired body curled in a crescent shape, ready for a comfortable rest to claim his aching muscles.

In his dream, he saw the moon, the stars, and a blue haze noisily fighting against the never-ending darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ah, Prince Lotor, perfect timing. Please escort this  ** _unruly_** student back to the Ravenclaw wing.”

You were looking down in shame, one hand rubbing your elbow as to preoccupy yourself from paying attention to the professor outright  _embarrassing_ you in front of Lotor. The halls were empty and he, himself, was on his way back to the Slytherin chambers. That is, until he passed the library. Any students out this late was only looking for trouble.

Lo and behold, he found  _you_.

“Yes, professor. I will make sure she arrives safely.”

Part of you wanted to grumble, but 50 points was already taken from the Ravenclaw house, and you know you will never hear the end of it once news spread to your other housemates. Lotor held his arm out, offering you to step ahead of him, as the two of you walked further and further away from the archives. It was only until the both of you were out of earshot did you finally speak up.

“I wasn’t gonna take any of the books or nothing,” you were pouting slightly at your confession, “I mean, it’s not like I can anyways. They’re  _enchanted_.”

“You were in the forbidden section?” now, that impressed him, “What ever for? You know very well those books are not for student’s eyes.”

“I was looking for info on... _mmf_ …” you mumbled, crossing your arms in a childish fit, “...We’re friends, right? I can  _trust_ you, right?” 

In any other circumstance with any other person, he would have mocked you thoroughly. However, right now, he found himself genuinely fascinated with the hidden reason why you would willingly keep on breaking school rules. Were Ravenclaws known to be such rebels? That is something he expected more from Keith, if he was to be honest. Slowly, Lotor pulled out that stone from his pocket, now cold and bland, then offered it back to you.

Instantly, your eyes lit up as your suspicions faded, hand gladly accepting your favorite rock back.

“...You heard of the Mirror of Erised?”

“Ah, yes. I heard it was once at this school until it was moved, no?”

“Yes, but…” you shifted your glance around, making sure no one but him was listening, “I  _heard_  they destroyed it. Or tried to. It just broke into large pieces.”

It was then that you pulled out a folded cloth, footsteps halting as the windows filtered in the night’s moonlight. Lotor turned to face you completely in curiosity while careful fingertips unraveled the handkerchief you pulled out of your pocket. It wasn’t until the glint of a mirror winked at him did he freeze stone-cold. No...that was  **impossible**. Surely this was just a piece of glass from any mirror, right? But judging by the knowing look on your face, it was the real thing.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked in a hushed whisper, definitely more piqued now.

“Yes. My father collects rare artifacts and he somehow got a piece of the mirror,” it reflected the passing grey clouds as the both of you hovered over it, “I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

Deep down, Lotor should report you immediately to the headmaster for carrying an illegal magical item on the school grounds. This was beyond him, beyond marching in the Slytherin tent, beyond waltzing in the forbidden forest by yourself. You could lose your wand, you could go to Azkaban for even  _possessing_ such a thing in the first place. And, just by what you told him, it wasn’t even YOURS.

You  _stole_ an illegal magical item from your own father.

“Wanna see if it works?”

“We should absolutely  **not** be doing this,” he hissed, ushering you into a darkened corridor and blocking the entrance with his back, “It is called the Mirror of Erised for a reason. Do you not understand what you have in your possession right now?”

“Lotor, I’m not going to die from looking into it, I’ve done it before,” you could hear the alertness in his tone and, perhaps, he was right to be cautious, “Many times, but I never...saw anything. The books said that a spell was cast over it to prevent the mirror from working properly.”

Oh, he was  _so_  interested in seeing what would reflect in that mirror. After a moment of silence, he gave you some space and narrowed his eyes, just about ready to scold you some more. But, another part of him, a  _darker_ part, was tempting him. Dark arts was something he was very fascinated about. His mother studied it, his father utilized it, and he did want to master it as well. Though, not for destruction as many would believe.

This forbidden mirror, well, it  _called_ to him.

“What else did you find out?”

Your shoulders slumped in ease, now relaxed that he wouldn’t get you in trouble, at least not yet, “It only works under a blue moon and, if I’m correct, there is one tonight.”

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as you offered the mirror to him, “You are sure this is the real mirror?”

“Yes, I doubt my dad would be easily fooled.”

You, however, he would  _definitely_  call a fool.

Lotor carefully picked up the mirror then held it up besides the window, moonlight reflecting off the sleek surface. At first, his eyes could only see himself in the small fragment. Silver hair, deep shade of lavender skin, glowing yellow sclera, and nebulous eyes stared right back at him. Nothing out of the ordinary stuck out and, just as he was about to give it back to you, his reflection... ** _smiled_**. 

And Lotor has never seen himself smile like that before, like he was comfortable. Happy.  _Free_.

He would say this was an odd phenomenon to see himself in this alternate universe of sorts. It was even more strange when, out of the tiny mirror, your face appeared besides his, just as joyful and - dare he say - in love as his own. He knows that look. Seeing you wear it so care-freely around him struck a resonating chord in his heart. Lotor couldn’t lie to himself that this right here? This scene of you planting a soft, adoring kiss on his dotted cheek? It made his soul yearn in aching want.

“Well? Do you see anything?” you asked across from him and, cheeky bastard, his reflection winked knowingly at him before giving you a full, open-mouthed kiss, slick tongue and all.

Lotor could do two things right now. Tell you the truth and incite an awkward wedge between your slow-growing friendship  _or_  lie and make sure you never fall victim to the Mirror of Erised.

“I saw…” it took all his strength to drop his hand, keeping the mirror out of his eyesight, “I saw my future. I was with someone I deeply care about.”

Instantly, your expression lit up, but not because of what Lotor said. You were ecstatic that it  _worked_. It was definitely worth the risk, the 50 points from Ravenclaw, the small, optimistic obsession hidden behind your eyes. You reached out for it, intending to take your turn with the mirror, but Lotor stepped away from you, earning him a questioning stare.

“I can’t believe it really is - Hey, it’s my turn, give it here,” you reached again, but this time he gripped your wrist from snatching the mirror shard.

“ **Stop** ,” he ordered, using that infamous leadership tone of his, “You can not look in it. It is not safe - “

“Lotor, give it  _back_ ,” you tried wrenching your arm from him, but his hold was firm, “It’s not yours, anyways!”

“Listen to me. This is too dangerous, I can not let you do this. Whatever you see in it, whatever you  _want_  to see, it is not real,” he tried to reason with you, knowing that his own vision already deeply affected his psyche, “Do you not understand? This is what the mirror does. It makes you want things that can not happen.”

For a moment, you only looked at him with a blank slate. Then, a seething,  _hateful_ glare.

“I don’t  _care_ , Lotor. You don’t know - I  **need** to see - “ finally, you yanked free from his grip, “How do  _you_ know about my future?”

There it was again. That hopeful look, but it was heavily laced in your desperate tone, and Lotor eased his shoulders down at how small, how vulnerable you sounded. How you stared at him with a mixture of uncertainty, disappointment and, yes, a smidge of betrayal.

“How  _could_ you possibly know?”

He didn’t have an answer for you because, well, how could he possibly explain that the future was not set in stone, yet vehemently deny that there was a chance of you two being...happy together? It was hypocritical of him to assume such things, but deep down, he understood that was exactly how the Mirror of Erised works. It would be irresponsible of him to let you fall to its power.

Lotor hadn’t realized it until he opened his palm, but he was gripping the mirror so hard, it had cut into his skin.

“I do not know what the future holds, what  _your_ future holds,” he gently cupped your hand, inwardly kicking himself when he saw you flinch, yet you ultimately let him place the blood-tinged mirror in your palm, “But I know that this mirror will prevent you from truly seeing what lies ahead of you.”

You hated how right he was and now, that dash of hope lingering in your heart was snuffed out like a candle in the wind. There was a reason why you wanted to see the future. As with anyone, you wanted to know if things would be okay. If things would turn out for the better as long as you kept true to the path laid out for you. As long as you let fate control your actions, your words, your  _very_ life. Lotor noticed the fire in your spirit wane and he covered your hand with his larger one, both to show support and to shield the reflection from your eyes.

“You  _must_ return this to your father. Get it off the castle grounds before someone else finds it,” his eyes implored you to listen because, well, he was already breaking the rules and he hoped you knew this was for not just the school’s safety, but for yours, too, “Do you understand?”

Your eyes were still locked onto his hand, covering what you so  _desperately_ wanted to peer in.

“ ** _Look_** at me.”

And once you did, Lotor could see the rim of your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. No, you wouldn’t let them drop. You couldn’t. You weren’t just sad. You were angry.  _Frustrated_. At life, at him, at how every time he was just coincidentally looking out for you. But most importantly? You felt alone. Even with your friend supporting you, right in FRONT of you, you felt terribly isolated again.

“...Okay.  _Okay_ , I’ll send it back tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was no surprise that you had avoided him the next few days. Given the circumstances, perhaps that was the best choice of action for the both of you. Lotor's mind was still taunting him with that image he saw in the mirror. It was stronger at night, when he was asleep, and it even plagued his dreams. The worst part of it all? He liked it. He  _really_ liked it, when he knew he shouldn't.

Deep down, he knew being hopeful never worked well for him.

"-tor? Lotor?  _Hello_ , Earth to Lotor?"

He blinked when a pink hand waved an inch from his face, fully gaining his attention from his daydreaming state, "Yes, Ezor? What is it?"

"Class is over. The gals and I were wondering if you wanted to head to the sweet shop..." Ezor tilted her head, truly studying his far-away look, "Hey, you okay? You don't got a cold, do you?"

Lotor brought a hand up to his cheek, noticing right away they were unusually warm. No, not unusually. He knows why. He was having less than pure thoughts only moments before Ezor interrupted him. The Prince was fantasizing kissing you, marking your neck with his eager fangs, hands groping the heated flesh of your thighs, higher and  _higher_ , until his fingers reached the valley of your wet -

Perhaps a walk would do him well.

"It is nothing," he stood up from his seat, gathering his bag and hooking it over his shoulder, "Unfortunately, I must meet with Professor Alfor regarding an assignment. Though, if they have chocolate frogs in stock, do grab me a few. I would appreciate it."

With a playful two finger salute, she was gone in a blink, bouncing down towards the exit of the class where Zethrid was waiting for her. Lotor walked up to the wooden door on the adjacent side of the room then knocked three times. A soft "Come in" and he was turning the knob, allowing himself entrance into Professor Alfor's office. All around him were books, both ancient and new, and a few strange artifacts decorating around the room.

"Ah, Prince Lotor. Come,  _come_ , I just finished brewing coffee," Alfor, white hair tied back in a ponytail, motioned for Lotor to take a seat, "What can I do for you, my lad?"

The Prince nodded in thanks then picked up the teacup, blowing the steam wafting in the air, but not quite taking a drink yet, "I have a question regarding the final project for the class. I understand we are free to pick our chosen topic, but I wanted to check in with you first before dedicating myself to work."

"Of course. The Dark Arts are not for the light of heart and I am always willing to guide students if they need help. Tell me, what have you chosen?"

"I wish to know more about the Mirror of Erised."

"Ah, excellent choice, my Prince. Yes,  _yes_ , an innocent object enchanted by the most forbidden of spells," instantly, Alfor hummed in thought, "And I can see why this would be difficult to do research upon since any books pertaining to it are restricted from students."

Professor Alfor stood from his seat, marching to his bookshelf and scanning for one specific title, "Although, the historical aspects of the mirror are not restricted. I know I have one book here that covers almost all of its safer characteristics."

"Professor," Lotor spoke up, "I was actually wondering how it works and if those who gazed upon the mirror have ever been  _cured_ of it."

"Cured?" Alfor glanced back at the purple student before sitting across from him, placing the book on the desk, "Well, interesting question. To find a cure, one must understand how a disease works in the first place, no?"

Lotor gave the Professor his full attention now, coffee still left undisturbed.

"The Mirror of Erised works differently than most of the forbidden items known in magical history because it infects individuals in the  **mind**. It does not cast a curse on the looker, rather, it simply amplifies the person's obsession. Many believe it shows the future, but in reality, it doesn’t do any of that. No one can tell the future, not even mystical objects. The mirror taints the mind by latching onto one person's deepest desires and forces them to fixate on false hope. That, my lad, is man's greatest downfall.  _Hope_."

Alfor took a sip of his drink, eyes not once breaking from Lotor's gaze.

"Hope of what could be. Believe it or not, this ancient item has actually caused wars and won wars in the past. In some cases, just seeing oneself in the mirror bolsters their confidence. Keeps them eager to fulfill their destiny. On the other hand, it also clouds each person's morals and judgement compass. It poisons the mind and confuses those who look upon it. Makes them wonder who they truly are. They lose a part of themselves, the potential of who they  _could_ be."

Lotor was already connecting the pieces together.

"This is why there is no cure. At least, no overall cure. Many have tried potions, memory erasing spells, even resorting to magical creatures for a way to relieve one of their obsession. Although, I have heard of a few people who were able to break free from the mirror's hold. They  **denied** their desires, their path laid out before them, even if the results were catastrophic in the end. However, from what I gathered, that required a great amount of will, something not everyone has within themselves."

The Prince finally sipped on his warm coffee, tongue tasting the bitterness of the drink.

"A will to change."

 

* * *

 

 

You sat besides him without saying a word. The mess hall was sparse with lingering students here and there, all either studying or enjoying a meal together. Lotor himself was currently eating a chicken pot pie, warm and fresh from the kitchen, but when you appeared, he halted and instead silently studied you. A few hair strands were out of place, it looked like you rushed through a shower, and the house scarf was messily skewed around your neck.

Tired. You looked  _so_ tired.

"It's gone," you spoke lowly, voice sounding more grave than he cares to admit, "I sent it back home. I don't have it anymore and I...I  _didn't_ look in it."

Lotor released a breath of relief he wasn't aware he was holding. He wasn't above bending the rules to his will, but that was only when his well-being was on the line. With others came more risk, something he didn't like at all. The Prince took notice of you staring at his food and, grabbing another fork, he offered you part of his meal. You were hesitant at first, unsure if you deserved to eat after what happened, but with an encouraging nod from the Prince, you dug in with him.

"My dear," he couldn't keep his studious eyes off you, "May I ask you a question?"

Something that has been bugging him for quite a while now. Something about your  _obsession_ with the mirror.

"What did you think you would have seen if you looked in the mirror?"

Your eyes glazed with sadness again, the same intense sadness from before, "...My family. My  _ **happy**_ family."

Lotor was hidden behind his usual facade of stoicism. While he saw his own obsession with you in the mirror, he could only imagine how much more potent it would have been for you to see your loving family, despite whatever situation was clouding over your head at home. His own family wasn't the best and, well, he found himself unsure of what to even say to you.

Even if right now would be the perfect moment to make you rely on him for his own  _sick_ desires.

"Thanks for...for helping me," you murmured lowly, "I’m sorry. I’m really,  _ **really**_ sorry, Lotor. I said I wouldn’t drag you into trouble and I went - I know you’re my friend and you were looking out for me and - and I guess I was just..."

Stupid?

"No," he slid an arm around you, pulling you in for a small hug and lending you his shoulder, "You will be okay, darling."

 _You have him_ , that dark voice whispered in his mind.

You fully turned in his hold and embraced him in a complete hug, hiding your face in his chest. Twice now,  _twice_ he has been there for you, and you were ever so damn grateful to have a friend like him, someone to tether you when your wants got out of hand. Someone to not...shun you for mistakes. Someone who didn't abandon you when they learned more about you.

" _Ahem_..." he cleared his throat, his capacity for PDA already filling up quite quickly, and you pulled away a bit sheepishly, "Come. Eat. I am sure you will feel better, hm?"

 

* * *

 

 

The parchment in your hand felt heavy for something so thin. Your eyes re-read the little words scribbled elegantly across it as you stood by the bank of the water. It was chilly and, thankfully, your thermal stone was keeping you nice and toasy. Even so, you made sure to tuck your scarf securely around your neck, long cloak covering the rest of you.

 

_Meet me by the Black Lake tonight._

★ _L_ ★

Lotor had slipped this in your book before potions class had ended and, although you sent him a questioning glance, he gave you no response and simply left. Odd, but the silent secrecy is what truly made you step out into the night. It was interesting,  _thrilling_ , even. What did he have up his sleeve? Were you two going into the forest? Perhaps he took your invitation after all.

“Ah, I see you were finally able to drag yourself out of bed today.”

You turned to see the one and only Prince, the crunch of snow under his foot getting louder as he neared the pier. He, too, was layered with clothes, from his signature scarf down to his mittens, but what truly stuck out was what he was holding in his hand. It was was his broom, the one he uses in his Quidditch matches. Sleek, black, a lethal weapon all together.

“Very funny,” you crossed your arms, knowing he was lightly poking fun at you for letting your sadness lock you in bed for the last few days, “I just...needed time. To recover.”

Were his eyes...glowing? It was really an intimidating look in the shadow of the night.

Lotor clapped a hand on your shoulder and gave you a soft squeeze, “I know. And I think tonight will help you even more.”

“Let me guess. You forced me out here to watch you do tricks on your broom.”

“Actually,” he smirked then mounted his broom, “I wish to take you on a ride.”

Fresh, cold air was one thing, but flying through it was even more rejuvenating for the soul. At least, for his soul. You sent him a baffled gape, unsure if you heard him right the first time. Yes, Lotor  _legitimately_ asked you to sneak out so you could go for a joyride on his broomstick? Surely there were other things the two of you could’ve done to get you out of this heavy slump.

“Come now, just one. It will be good for you.”

“I, uh, have a fear of heights.”

“Then I shall stay low to the ground for you,” he countered, patting his open chest in offering, “You have my word, dear.”

You sighed at his logical persistence before stepping closer to fix yourself on the thin broom. Of course, you had to lean back against him to fully situate yourself and, well, Lotor did a good job letting you find your balance. Once your rump was flushed against his pelvis, he leaned forward a bit to tower over you, but also to cage you in his arms. Safety first, after all. He couldn’t have you tumbling down the moment he took off, now can he?

Plus...he won’t lie, it was kind of soothing to hold you against his body like this. The trust was tempering his unruly thoughts. Being this close, he could smell the minty shampoo you used on your hair mixed with a scent that was all you.  _Stay on track, Lotor. This is about giving **you** a good time. Keep those desires locked away._

“Prepare yourself,” he started a slow push forward with the broom, “Just try to relax. The more rigid you are, the easier it is to tip you.”

_Besides, I have you in my arms, darling._

The lake water was barely a few inches away from the tips of your toes. It was...exciting, in a way. Lotor could see you gazing out across the dark surface, taking in the winter wonderland and white moon rippling across the reflection. He could feel your body physically begin to relax against him as the broom carried on its casual speed, calming you and, surprisingly, him as well. The Prince could...well, he could kiss you.

He banished the thought the split second it crossed his mind.

“Beautiful...” you were in awe, the crisp wind gently brushing your cheeks, “I can stay here forever.”

Warm. You were  _so_ warm, he could feel your heat seeping through his clothes.

“Learn how to fly and you can do this whenever you wish,” Lotor’s voice was so close to your ear, it sent a lovely shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know. I’m lazy, remember?” you smiled then fully leaned back, pushing your weight onto him and practically using his solid form as a comfortable wall to lean on, “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same.”

You hooded your eyes, gazing languidly into the blurred horizon while the billions of stars above twinkled in the night. If you made a wish, would it come true? If Lotor made a wish, could he believe it came true because of fate or by his own doing? He took a deep breath and ushered himself to relax, placing his chin on your shoulder while nearly cuddling you from behind. If his obsessive desires were  _strong_ enough, would they still feel honest?


	3. No Time Like the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor receives a gift and finds it means more to him than he realizes.

 

Lotor  _knew_ he was staring.

He knew he was unconsciously drifting his gaze from the professor to where you were sitting, directly across the hall from him. More than once he had to snap out if it by internally slapping himself, even if you didn’t  _once_ recognize the indecent gaze of his eyes lingering on your body. Your mouth. Your neck. Your shoulders. All of you. From the way your quill moved with every flick of your wrist to how those lips would mutter silently to yourself in reminder.

Lotor wondered what else your hands could do. What else that mouth could do. What else hid behind those lustrous orbs of yours. He couldn’t decide between wanting to  _steal_ a kiss from you or wanting you to  _take_  his breath away with a press of your delicate, pillowy lips upon him. His thoughts were rampant with little care for the rules he labeled as self-respect. And, damn it all, he had to control himself better.

_You are **not** in love. You are heavily infatuated, you fool. You know the difference, now gather your wits and pay attention to the lesson at hand._

Hand. Lotor’s mind flashed an image of your hands, helplessly clinging to his back in wild lust. Were your nails long? Would you be digging them in his hot flesh while his hips grind against your body underneath him? Oh, how he wanted to feel your palm touching his chest, anywhere your curious mind desired. Are you the kind to let your fingertips explore or -

Damn. What was he? A foolish hormone-driven prepubescent again?

“Asked her out to the Yule Ball yet?”

Lotor kept his gaze glued on you and, without missing a beat, answered, “No. I do not think I will.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Shiro was watching his friend, that half-lust, half-adoration look in his eyes, “I heard Throk was going to.”

“You sure hear a lot of gossip nowadays, hm, Shiro?”

“Not my fault Allura’s mice like to hang out with me.”

He would have to hand it to Lotor, though. The man didn’t even flinch when he mentioned Throk. Was he that enthralled with you? Were his rose-colored goggles  _too_ tight on his face? Did he even notice you staring straight back at him with a small smile on your lips? No, he thinks not. He was on cloud nine and riding high in his horny thoughts.

“She will not agree to go with him.”

“Never get rid of that confidence, friend. It suits you,” Shiro grinned, containing his chuckle to not draw attention, “Since when could you tell the future?”

“I can not,” he grinned, “But chances are slim for Throk when she, no doubt, has lines of eager suitors just  _waiting_ to ask for her hand.”

Shiro was tempted to roll his eyes. What a hopeless romantic, this guy. When his grey orbs caught the black rose sticking out of his friend’s satchel, the Gryffindor prefect shook his head in mirthful amusement.

Hopeless? Maybe not. Romantic?  **Definitely**.

* * *

 

Another crumpled ball folded itself into a snake, the magic from your wand bringing inanimate objects to life. Temporarily, anyways.

If anyone were to come into your room, they would see a zoo littered all over the floor. Paper animals from bears to giraffes tramped over the rug, some hiding under your bed while others sought to rip the smaller one to pieces. Ah, yes, the circle of paper life. It mattered not how noisy they were being. It could not distract you from hovering the tip of the quill over another blank parchment.

And hover it stayed.

The words were not coming to you and that was  _beyond_ frustrating. Your penmanship was fine, beautiful even, but the prose? The poetic soul? The letters meant to represent those lingering thoughts in your head were not working with you tonight. Or any previous night, for that matter. All you were doing was wasting ink and time. And yet, you kept trying, struggling to make this letter as  _perfect_ as possible for a certain white haired Slytherin.

Sighing heavily, you straighten your back and stretched your arms above you, letting your mind wander.

If there was one thing you appreciated with being Lotor’s friend, then it is that you didn’t need to be perfect. Everyone had flaws, but he showed you twice already that fixing them is what makes you a better person. Change is a good thing. Painful, but good. It was difficult keeping your eyes astray from that mirror shard. Easily one of the hardest hurdles you have ever had to do. You wanted so badly to see your mother, your father, all of you, smiling happily like before they…

“Dear Lotor,”

Dear Lotor? Was that proper for your friend? Hopefully, yes.

“Words can not express how thankful I am to have you by my side.”

You thought back to potions class, the time in the forest, even when he was guiding you to your house’s wing. A small, fond smile spread on your lips.

“Whereas I have been recklessly selfish, you have dutifully”

Dutifully?  _Ugh_. That was  **not** the right word! You know he wasn’t helping you out of duty. Well, not completely anyways. You hastily scratched over “dutifully” then continued writing, figuring this was a good 56th draft.

“You have kindly grounded me to see things more logically, something I have failed to do for someone sorted into the Ravenclaw house.”

Yes, yes. Keep it somewhat light with a self-burn joke. No doubt he would agree with you anyways. Probably chuckle to himself if he reads it.  _When_ he reads it. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating on the next words itching to transfer from your mind to ink. This part was always the hardest. The blank yellow tint of the paper mocked you, teased you for the cowardly trepidation gripping your chest. All this time, locked in your room, you came to one conclusion: you liked Lotor. You would consider the both of you as friends, right?

Right.

“If it is all the same to you”

Scratch that. It was too non-chalant.

“I hereby request that”

Scribbles. Too formal.

“Would it be terribly selfish if I were to ask you to attend the Yule ball with me?”

As...friends? Best friends. You felt your face warming up at those two words. Best. Friends. You really liked that.

* * *

 

Prince Lotor was nervous.

A rare occurrence for him, but it did happen. While he brushed off invisible lint from his shoulder, other hand folded neatly behind his back, he kept his posture straight and regal in waiting like a true gentleman. The bottom of the stairs have never felt so intimidating before. His collar suddenly felt too tight and,  _goodness_ , was that a scuff on his boots? Who dared step on his shoe without his knowing? He kept sneaking glances to his cuffed wrists, just to make sure he was presentable for the public. No, not  _just_ the public. But for you, too. Of course he was fine, handsome even, and yet…he was stiff as if he was going to face a basilisk with only his bare hands for weapons.

Green was still a horrendous color, but he will admit it complemented the black suit wonderfully.

“Prince Lotor.”

Your voice calling his name, with his proper title, drew his nebulous eyes up each carved marble step. That smile on your face suited you well and, in all honesty, was better than the elegant dress draping past your ankles. That beauty radiating from your eyes put the soft sapphire linen to shame. Little did he know, you were thinking the same when you stared in awe at the silver braid crowning his head. Did he even realize he was grinning like a fool with a soft fondness glazing over his sharp face?

“You look  **beautiful** , my dear,” he held his hand out, which you gladly surrendered your own on top of his, “Surely, this flower will not even hold a candle to you.”

You scoffed, he chuckled, “C’mon, Casanova, give yourself some credit here. I’d say try not to attract too much attention at the hall, but that’s nearly impossible for you.”

“Oh? Go on,” Lotor tied the white silk band around your wrist delicately, ensuring the blooming corsage was centered properly, “Think women will drop to my feet and beg for a dance?”

“Ha!” you barked a laugh, “That’ll be the day. But no, it’s more like...you’re just hard to miss.”

With his height, his skin, his hair, yes, Lotor was indeed hard to miss. No doubt people would stare and, although you had no problem with speeches and crowds in a classroom, this was a different setting all together. A social gathering, not something you were accustomed to yet, especially besides someone whose mere presence demanded attention. Lotor curbed the playful banter then held his elbow out for you to take, already sensing your creeping uneasiness while his own nervousness disappeared in thin air.

“I do not suppose you have any more of that invisible ink you used in your letter, hm?” there was a hint of pride at your ingenious trick, one he almost wasn’t able to solve, “We could douse ourselves in it and run off. All those in our year will be there, I doubt they would notice two people missing.”

Besides, it’s not like this is the first time Lotor would bend the rules for you.

“And land you in trouble with the Headmaster Bob? I think not, Mr.  _ **Prince**_ Slytherin Prefect.”

“Please,” he said with some exasperation hidden in his grin, “Just call me Lotor for tonight.”

The doors were already open and, from above, you could see the enchanted ceiling sprinkling snowflakes of all sizes. They disappeared before touching anyone’s head, but what truly caught your sight was the bright moon and the powdered tall trees displaying a winter wonderland before your very eyes. Magic was truly a special phenomenon you will never quite get used to.

“Damn, looks like we missed the ballroom dance,” you sure did not sound too heartbroken about it, “Seems like my accursed knack for being late strikes once again. Terrible.”

Lotor arched a brow and grinned down at you, “Nonsense. We will still get our dance yet, darling, though this music is not exactly suitable for it. Nor is...all this wild hopping and flailing.”

While all the students were inside, going crazy to the rock of ages blasting in the hall, Lotor led the two of you out into an isolated garden patio, complete with cement benches, neatly trimmed bushes still shimmering with green leaves, and even a soothing fountain filling the chilly air. Strange, but the cold did not seep into your bones as fast as you thought. In fact, you felt rather warm besides your friend.

A puff of fog left your mouth as you spoke, “It was getting stuffy in there. But,  _aah_ , the fresh air is nice.”

You took a deep breath just to emphasize your approval, but when you tried to release your hold from him, Lotor’s bigger hands refused to let you go. He wasn’t clasping tightly at all, more loose to let you go if you truly wanted to. Your questioning gaze and tilt of head made the Prince falter for a second, before he offered you an enchanting smile. Enchanting or mischievous, you wondered?

“I was serious about the dance,” he liked the surprised look on your face, “But if you are not of mind, it is no tragedy, my dear.”

“You know, I failed that lesson. Spectacularly, might I add.”

“Good thing I am not a teacher then, hm?”

A laugh left your mouth before you could stop it, funny bone simply tickled at the light banter. Yes, it is a good thing he was no teacher. You returned to his arms, much to his delight, and placed your free hand on his broad shoulder. Lotor tangled his fingers with yours properly before setting his palm properly to grip your waist. He was half tempted to squeeze, maybe try to see if you were ticklish at all, but it was your hum of thought that distracted him.

“Just don’t laugh when I step on your toes.”

“I will most certainly laugh. You know this.”

Teasing bastard, but you grinned in amusement anyways. Lotor nearly puffed up his chest, ready to lead you into the dance, but first he started...purring? No, ridiculous. He was  **humming** a soft tune, one completely different than that leaking from the dance hall. Slowly, with the utmost care as if he was holding an ethereal moon goddess in his very arms, the Prince guided you along with his firm, lithe body.

Chest against chest, pelvis flushed together, the surrounding garden and night slowly faded away as the only thing both of you could feel was each other’s sublime presence. He was good at this and, really, now you kind of wished you paid more attention in class. Lotor expertly avoided your missteps, making it seem like you were flawlessly following his guide even though he was doing 95% of the work.

You were acutely aware that he had a smile on his face, one you have never seen him wear since you first met him crossing the threshold into Hogwarts castle.

“You are staring.”

“Can’t help it. Your freckles are distracting.”

“I get that quite often,” he flashed you an honest, handsome grin, canine glinting under the dim moon, then found his throat constricting suddenly, “You may touch them, if you wish.”

As the dance came to a slow end, you decided to take him up on that offer. His hands smoothed down to hold your waist, a way to keep you close to him in this chilly,  _chilly_ night. Couldn’t risk you getting a cold or becoming sick, right? Lotor kept still when gentle fingertips trailed up to his chin, barely skimming over his jawline, then gave the barest of flinches as you touched him. His cheeks were freezing, but your warm thumbs caressing over his freckles felt absolutely blissful.

You don’t know why, but you half expected those speckles to glow.

“Hm,” you squinted, eyes narrowed at him and, well, it put him on alert. Was it something he did? Said? Perhaps he was holding you too tight -

“...55...56…”

“...Are you,” he started, realization dawning on him, “Are you counting my freckles?”

A pinch on his cheeks, “Yes! You made me lose count. Stay still.”

But he didn’t. Lotor bellowed out a laugh, head tossing back at the ruined moment. No, not ruined. This was perfect. Not exactly what he expected, but you always did have a funny way to diffuse domestic scenarios. Leave it to you to make him swerve off his intended path. A good thing, no doubt. Always expect the unexpected. His chest was shaking while you tsk’d at him for interrupting your very important assignment.

“Come, darling,” he let out a relieved sigh, the laugh doing wonders on his hardened, infatuated soul, “Sit with me. I have something for you.”

Lotor brushed off the layer of snow from the cement bench then motioned you to take it. He did the same for his own spot before glancing up at the night sky.  **Beautiful**. Always has been, but tonight, those star seem to be glimmering even brighter than before. Your eyes were stuck on the moon and it was in this rare, pleasant silence where the both of you came to understand how...nice it was being with each other.

“Christmas was never something I gave a second thought to because it was too...how do you say? Too  _sentimental_ , ” his hand reached into his coat, pulling out an immaculately wrapped square present, “It was not a holiday for me. Celebrating with family over a warm dinner and thoughtful, spoiled presents. Hugs and togetherness spreading cheer and good will to each other. Sickening, really.”

You would have believed him if you didn’t catch that growing smile on his lips.

“But I realize that is wrong. What it means to me does not mean the same for others. Not to you,” his thumb brushed over the shiny bow on the present before he turned and offered it to you, “There are people who had a happy family and... _ahem_ , pardon me.”

Lotor was at a loss for words. This talk was making his heart jump in his chest, crashing into his vocal chords and messing with his brain only because it felt awkward sharing personal thoughts so...openly.

“I simply hope this _gift exchange_ , as you say, is enough to bring back those joyful memories for you, my dear.”

My best friend. Lotor was no dunce. He could piece two and two together, especially after you shared with him the history of your broken family. He didn’t  _need_ to hear it all and, judging by how much it affected you, you weren’t going to indulge him. The only thing that mattered was that you were happy. You had a happy family and, damn it, just because his own parents were cruel and heartless doesn’t mean you should follow his chosen path of being the seasonal despondent.

You had good memories of your family, but this? Lotor’s gift? You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the surge of feelings making your lower lip quiver. You threw your arms around him in a crushing embrace, causing the Prince to stutter at such straightforward displays of affection. And yet, his arms wrapped around your midsection as he returned the sudden hug. This...this felt  _nice_ , especially knowing you accepted his gift.

“Thank you,” you swayed him slightly before backing off him, “Thank you, _thank you_ , _ **thank you**_ , Lotor. This is...it’s not the same, but…”

Lotor’s smile faltered a bit.

“But it’s much better.  _Way_ better.”

Now, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.

“I love it - “

“You did not even open it yet.”

“I know! I’m just taking in the moment! It’s important! It feels good!”

Lotor raised a silver brow and, finally, you pulled the bow and strings off the present. The wrapping came off next. The Prince found himself unconsciously holding his breath in dreadful anticipation. The book with no title laid bare for your very eyes, but you went deathly silent. Intricate etchings in the green leather dye suddenly seemed mediocre for someone like you. The symbolic tree with jade minerals carved into leaves were too dull. He knew he should have gone with emeralds. Much prettier, much shinier, much more suited for -

“ _Wow_ …” your voice was low, but full of dazed awe, “You...you made this?”

“Oh, no. I bought the journal,” he watched your fingertips gently skim over the leaves, “But those, I put in myself. I even...ah…”

The timber of his voice trailed off and you turned to look at him to see his gaze fixated on the white floor, “Yes? You even…?”

“So pushy, you are,” he chuckled, running a hand over his hair and trying to steel himself with being so open, “I have enchanted it. Do write in it tonight and see what happens.”

“You aren’t going to tell me?”

“No.”

“See, that’s just mean,” you bumped your shoulder against him lightly, playfully, “Now I can’t wait until the dance is over.”

Would you think differently of him if he said he didn’t  **want** it to end?

“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” you reached into your bag, “Now, before I give this to you, you  _have_ to close your eyes.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Yes,  **really**.”

“Very well, I will humor you.”

You almost wanted to pinch that catty grin off his face, but he did obey when his lids slid close. Taking a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t peek, you gently grabbed his hand and placed the paper wrapped orb in his palm. At least, you should have, until you noticed a certain pale scar cutting across his skin. The scar from the mirror, an unwelcome reminder of your foolish actions.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped the gift and pushed his fingers up to curl around it.

“Alright,  _there_.”

When he opened his celestial eyes, the first thing Lotor saw was that your smile, as true as it was, had a quick flutter of sadness creeping at the edges. It disappeared before he could question you and he ultimately decided, well, perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was that fleeting memory of your family invading your mind again. In any case, he let it go for now, then deftly peeled apart the wrapping covering your gift.

Your leg was bouncing in anxiousness. Every crinkle of the paper was a mocking tune to the gift in his hand. This wasn’t as practical as his gift. Did he like gifts that were more useful than sentimental? Oh, stars, what if this was just going to be sitting in a storage box, hidden away for years because all it ever does is show one’s emotions and -

Lotor’s brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Is...is this blue sandstone?”

“Uh huh,” your hand came up to rub your neck nervously, “Shined it, too, until it was good and ready. Do you...like it?”

Why did you even ask that? It only made your throat tighten more in trepidation, both wanting and afraid to hear his answer.

He could not take his eyes off the orb, inner stars slowly changing to green grass and blooming flowers and sunshine all around. It was warm, so warm that he had to bring both of his hands in to cradle it lovingly. This small gem was...precious.  **Beautiful**. He knows about these, he knows about these intimately, but he never sought to own one himself. Lotor liked to believe he is a man who knows himself both inside and out, emotions included.

But this soothing visual of spring time told him otherwise.

“I do,” he whispered, “I do like it. This is...This is truly an extraordinary gift, my dear. I will cherish it forever.”

Lotor may be a Prince, but right now he felt like a King.

You sighed in relief. Lotor took entirely too long to answer, but when he did, his words made you feel big. Wholesome. Accomplished, even. Then...then you realized what exactly this was you were feeling. You felt  _accepted_. You didn’t feel so alone now. It was quiet, both students simply touching and admiring the gifts given by the other while the stars protected you two from above.

“Do you...want to go inside? Grab a drink?”

Lotor slowly dragged his eyes to lock with yours, a certain tenderness radiating from them in the night. It was a good look on him, one you thought, well, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Not yet, my dear. I am...taking in the moment.”

* * *

 

Neither of you wanted the night to end, but alas, even youngsters had their limits. Lotor’s tie was loose, jacket hanging off the side of his chair, and top two buttons of his shirt undone. Still, he wasn’t tired, he didn’t want to sleep, not when the blue sandstone orb was still in his possession. This would easily be a treasured gift he will not share with others. Solely for him and him  _only_. Not even Kova would have the luxury of touching this.

The navy-dyed journal on his desk began glowing a faint, soft hue. Lotor couldn't stop the surge of...joy? Happiness? Eagerness?  _Something_. The surge of  _something_ fluttering to his face and planting a smile on his lips. He flipped it open to the first blank page and waited in suspense. He never told you what the secret was because he wasn’t quite sure if his enchantment worked in the first place.

Then, words started appearing on the parchment, words written in  **your** handwriting.

“Dear diary, 

Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

Lotor grabbed his quill, uncapped his ink bottle, then dipped it before writing right under your sentence.

“Me, too.”


	4. Thinking Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor realizes that the feelings he has been harboring are not what they seem.

 

“Here you go, two cups of black tea.”

Romelle, bright eyed and equally bright haired student of Hufflepuff, placed two dishes of tea in front of you and Lotor. Professor Trelawney’s reasoning for “switching up partners” is so people would not be too familiar with each other. That way, everyone could get a true taste of variety amongst their peers. Unfortunately for her, she was oblivious to you and Lotor’s growing friendship.

“Ugh, this tea is so  _bitter_.”

“Yes, I will admit, this is not one of my more preferred flavors.”

Black tea was too strong on your palette, but at least the temperature of the drink was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, and you couldn’t help but grin when Lotor sent you a pointed look the second you started sipping loudly. Where are your manners? You had none, not for some tea leaves fortune telling crap.

“Have you ever had sweet berry hibiscus tea?” you asked out of the blue, peeking at him over the edge of your tiny cup.

“I have. The fruity flavor is delightful with a side coconut jelly,” somehow, this meager chitchat made the bitter liquid bearable, “I took a trip to Maui one summer. Oh, so humid, but not as hot as I would have expected. The locals were, ahem, generous and kind beyond measure. Of course, after they accept you, the ridicule for being a tourist never ends.”

You smiled at hearing that, finding some sort of cruel glee in his suffering, “Yeah? They call you old man because of your hair?”

“Oh, come now, surely that insult is as old as time itself,” he chuckled then grinned at the challenge, “No, no, they playfully poked that I am a fish when it comes to surfing. I quote, ‘Floundering and wiggly.’”

Now, the two of you laughed, and unbeknownst to either of you, Allura’s attention was not so subtly focused on the happy duo. Or at least, how happy Lotor seemed. Romelle took her seat across from her, tilted her head when she received no recognition from her close friend, then followed her line of sight. A mild annoyance began creeping up her spine then she gently slid a hand to cover Allura’s dainty ones, a show of support and a way to garner her full attention.

“Allura?”

The Princess stayed silent for a moment more before tearing her gaze away, offering Romelle a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Yes? Pardon me, ready for some tea?”

The concerned look reflecting Romelle’s eyes did not go unnoticed. Nor did the soft way her thumb was gently rubbing over the Princess’ knuckles out of instinctual comfort. They talked about this before, talked about her and Lotor’s previous relationship several times over when she felt those feelings creep back up in her heart. You were right when reading her palm: Allura had an insecure heart, even a year after her relationship with him took a turn for the worst.

But that was not why she was intently watching you two right now.

“Are you alright?” or rather, will  _she_ be alright?

“Yes, I am quite fine, thank you,” the Princess picked up her teacup and rest her mouth on the lip, “...Actually, I think I am just...concerned.”

“Concerned? You know he can not hurt you anymore, Allura.”

“Not for me, no. I mean for  **her**.”

A spark of jealousy welled up in Romelle, but she quickly tampered it down before it could be known. You and Allura were not friends. Acquaintances, perhaps, but even so, she could understand the Princess’ bleeding heart for others. Especially in situations that didn’t include her, or need to include her at all. She only wished for the safety for everyone and the blonde girl couldn’t blame her. She cared too much for people and it did get her hurt more than once.

This was not new information to Romelle.

She sipped from her cup then glanced at Lotor, taking keen interest in him when he drank from his own cup, “Allura, do you think he’d hurt her? Maybe we should talk to Shiro about this…”

The Princess finally took a gulp of her tea, hoping it would relax her nerves, “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d rather not involve anyone else unless he - Unless I start to notice something. I really am trying to take your advice into practice.”

As in, don’t get in too deep in other people’s lives, ex’s included. It was just hard to do so when the man you once loved is giving someone else that same exact look she felt for him. Or at least, she  _thought_ she felt. A year later and it was still so very confusing for her fragile heart. Allura gently squeezed her friend’s hand in sincere apology.

“I am sorry for making you worry,” she continued, “Let’s enjoy this tea, yes?”

Romelle doubted the enthusiasm plastered over Princess Allura’s face, but she knew no words would soothe her troubled mind right now.

* * *

 

Lotor laid in bed with Kova perched on his shoulders, his tail loosely wrapped around the Prince’s neck. The cat would have rather been laying in his lap, but it was already preoccupied with an open book. There were words scribbling fast across the page, yet they appeared not by Lotor’s hand. No, the writing was too big, too loopy to be his.

_I nearly threw the book into the fire when you wrote back. You should’ve told me at the dance! Nearly scared me to death. Thought one of the ghosts possessed it or something._

He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his quill. The nub was wearing down. Soon, he would need a new one.

**You would willingly traverse into the Forbidden Forest past midnight, but a two-way journal scares you?**

_I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. Bravery is not in my blood._

Lotor grinned at that. Yes, curiosity and bravery were not of the same definitions. 

**Did your tea reading spook you of the future?**

_Why would I believe soggy, yucky leaves telling me I’m going to be attacked?_

**Maybe it is a sign. Watch out for puddles.**

After that, the Prince drew a surprisingly detailed puddle, but then added a stick figure to represent you. There was a frown on your face and he could already imagine the indignant noise you’d make once seeing his creative masterpiece. To his surprise, ink started sketching as an image of, what he could only assume, was HIM appeared over the water. Was that... was that him on his broom? Lotor chuckled in mirthful amusement.

**My ears are not that big.**

In response, you drew his hair  _longer_. Excessively longer. Rapunzel length longer. Then, the moon appeared. Full, just like that night, and little stars dotting the vacant sky. Lotor’s heart softened at the image you were drawing, not at all thinking about how he was connecting the dots and making constellations here and there. It wasn’t until he saw a single, long line stretch from the bottom of the page to the top and stop there did he tilt his head in confusion.

No more words? Ah. You must’ve fallen asleep on him. It was well past midnight anyways. You had a good idea. Before he decided to snuggle under the comforter in search of dreamland, he wrote three little words. Three little heartfelt words that he knows you’ll see come morning.

**Good night, darling.**

* * *

 

Lotor’s brows scrunched up in offense at watching you read. Well, he was  _trying_ to read, but his eyes caught such a despicable act to nature he had to put his own studies on halt just to make sure he was not dreaming a horrid nightmare. He cleared his throat softly, just enough to catch your attention.

“I had no idea you lick your thumb before turning pages.”

Almost comically, your tongue was still stuck out just as you were about to wet it, “I know, it’s a disgusting habit -”

“ _Very_. Remind me to  **never** lend you any of my books.”

You had to suppress a laugh at his squinty face, almost like he found a fly in his five-star bowl of clam chowder. This time, instead of using your thumb, you swiped the page with the tip of your wand. It seemed this pleased him more than your gross saliva tainting the books and spreading unknown germs to others. Or even to yourself! Who knows how many people have touched these books?

“And remind me never to touch any of  ** _your_**  books, too.”

You rolled your eyes yet kept a playful grin plastered on your lips, “One of my favorite stories is World War Z. Have you read it?”

“The one about zombies? Really? That one is the best book you can think of?” Lotor arched his brow, attention focused on you now instead of his own reading, “You know zombies can never really happen.”

“Shh! It could totally happen, y’know. If science can go wrong, why can’t magic? They wouldn’t’ve made reversal spells if magic was perfect.”

“Pardon me, did you just say…” he squinted at you even more, “W... _wouldn’t’ve?_ ”

Now, he was baffled at yet another phenomenon you showed him. Unnecessary contractions. Lotor blinked like you just grew another pair of lips on your face, which nearly made you chortle a bit too loud in the quiet library. No other students would even consider staying this late in the archives for fun, yet good company was all you two needed, location be damned.

“You have been hanging around Keith too much, darling,” he reprimanded, yet you didn’t take it at all seriously, “Next thing I know, you will be a brooding jar of angst who mopes in bed all day. Oh, wait, that  _DID_ happen.”

It was your turn to scoff in mock offense. How dare he grin that catty grin after openly poking fun at your expense? You almost wanted to retaliate by flicking a paper ball at him.  _Almost_ , and you only decided against it when you saw his eyes shine in delighted mirth, half his face hidden behind a book. It was...nice. Not his weak insult, no, but rather the friendly familiarity was quite refreshing between you two.

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I don’t...I don’t…”

“Hm? Yes? You do not  _what_? Use your words, dear.”

“Hmph, at least I don’t...Gah, I can’t think of anything!”

Lotor wasn’t flawless, but it was kind of hard to think of one, singular trait you could joke about on the spot. And he knew this. He reveled in making you fumble over your words because, although you were smart, you still needed at least a day warning to come up with a worthy insult. Meanwhile, the scrutinizing observer he was, he could pick at you till the sun comes up.

“It is alright. Take your time,” he nonchalantly turned a page, that air of victory surrounding his smug self, “You can say it  _tomorrow_  when you are ready.”

* * *

 

“Quietly. You do not want us to get caught, do you?”

As silently as you could, you lifted your foot and gently tapped the stone with every step you took. How Lotor could pull off being so stealthy, you had no clue. Magic, probably. He was leading you up many flights of stairs in a part of the castle you were not familiar with. Was this the Slytherin wing? No, there weren’t even any pictures on the cobblestone walls. Where exactly were you?

“Ugh, wait, let me - “ you knelt down quickly, slipping off your clunky shoes and allowing the cold stone to seep through your socks, “Okay. Okay, where are we going?”

One hand in his, the other now holding your scuffed shoes, Lotor decided against giving you a firm answer. Instead, he turned over his shoulder, sent you a quick wink along with his signature trusting smile. You stumbled  _gracefully_ , blaming the uneven stairs for fault, yet he was strong enough to still prevent you from kissing the floor.

“We are almost there...if you would stop tripping,” cue smile transforming into a playful grin, an excited grin, like a boy ready to see the fireworks start.

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have mile-long legs, I wouldn’t have to sprint to keep up,” you huffed, that is, until the two of you came across a large gap.

The chasm below,  _oh stars,_  how high up did you two travel? This was at least 50 stories high. It was a miracle the stairs were even holding up at all, as decrepit this building was. But...there, across the death hole, was a door which you could only assume was where he was planning on leading you. Before you could even ask him a question, Lotor released your hand then effortlessly leaped across the gap, landing calculated and ever so majestically.

And maybe a little smug when he met your slack-jawed face.

“That is  ** _so_** unfair.”

“Jump. I will help you, do not worry. The gap is not as big as you think.”

You were half nervous and half...excited? It must be because of your curiosity peaking at the sight of the ornate curved door. Surely, no one else would even consider venturing forth with the prospect of a very long drop right in front of them. But Lotor said he would help. Lotor said not to worry. Yet, you shuffled in spot, calculating how much of a running start you would need to make it across.

Meanwhile, the Prince was way too amused seeing you hesitate. He held out his arms as if offering a hug, trying to lure you in with the trust he carefully built with you.

“You drop me, I haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Duly noted, darling.”

That gap...was it just you, or was it getting bigger? Before you could let your nerves get the best of you, Lotor sent you a nod of encouragement and you exhaled a heavy breath. Shaking your arms, you backed up a bit then took a running start, leaping with all the strength in your legs.  _Don’t look down. Don’t look -_

Oh,  **fuck**. Too late. And now, you realized your jump wasn’t nearly as far as it should have been. One foot landed on the edge and Lotor’s instincts immediately kicked in, his strong arms winding around your midsection to pull you close for security. You weren’t sure who made the “ _eep_ ” noise, no, certainly not you, but you definitely heard him chuckle when your hands clung onto him for dear life.

Your heart was beating so fast. If you were listening closely, you could hear his, too.

“See? That was not so difficult, now was it?” Lotor took a few cautious steps away from the hole, noting your legs were shaking like a newborn foal, “Come, you - ah - dear, your nails…”

You stubbornly shook your head, refusing to let go of your hug as he guided you through the door, “Forests, fine. Flying over a lake? Fine. Leap of death? No. Next time, give me a piggyback ride. I’m not doing that again.”

The door closed behind you two and it was Lotor shrugging you gently to pull your face out of the safe confines of his chest. A dead fireplace, cushions, some thick blankets, half a ceiling missing. This place was in shambles, but it did make you feel more lax, more safe, more secluded. Lotor’s arms fell to his sides to let you explore the humble room, moon missing tonight and sky shimmering with distant stars.

“Here,” the Prince picked up a folded blanket, spreading it out and over your shoulders, “It is only going to get colder and we will be here for a while.”

“Oh...it’s…” the view from up here, so close to the clear sky, you almost felt like you could pluck a gem or two from the night, “You brought me here to stargaze? They look so much clearer tonight.”

Some more shuffling and Lotor wrapped his own thick comforter around his body then sat on a chilled cushion. There was no wind tonight, thank goodness, otherwise this trip he carefully planned might have ended prematurely. Footing your own cushion closer to his side, you also plopped next to your tall friend while tucking your blanket tighter in your chest. Neither of you minded that you two were, as they say, attached at the hip.

“Not only that. Just wait. Give it a few minutes,” Lotor angled his head upwards, nebulous eyes reflecting those twinkling stars and anticipating the phenomenal show to start.

You mimicked him, orbs searching for something in the sky, anything other than those countless dots swimming in the night. Lo and behold, you saw something flicker. And another, this time longer. A shooting star? Many!  _ **Many**_ shooting stars blinking in sight, and just like that, you perked up in amazement, in the awe Lotor witnessed that night at the moonstone lake. Lips parted, iris darting across the sky to catch each falling star, you saw 10, no, 12 pass by in the mere minutes you were sitting here.

The cold didn’t bother you anymore, “That’s...that’s like, 12 wishes!”

16 now and soon you would no doubt lose count with how frequently they appeared. You couldn’t keep up with his freckles, shooting stars even less.

“I can’t...think of more than 3 wishes,” your mouth scrunched up in a corner, “I wish tests weren’t so hard.”

“That, my dear, could easily be handled if you studied more,” he reached to his satchel and pulled out two green mugs, “If I recall correctly, the Muggle world believe wishes can be granted by magic, no?”

Your attention diverted to the cup he placed in your lap, fingers deftly picking it up and noticing it...empty. “Yeah, they believe that if you blow a dandelion in the wind, your wish comes true, too. Other things like, uh...something about ladybugs? And eyelashes? A bit silly, isn’t it?”

And yet, he has a suspicious feeling in his gut you tried every possible wishing device at your disposal. Lotor pulled out his wand then gently tapped the rim of his cup, warm dark liquid instantly filling it to tipping point. The steam wafted in the air and you noticed a few mini marshmallows floating in his drink, clumping together in the sea of sweetness. No sooner were you able to voice your question of “ _How did you do that?!_ ” did he use magic to fill your cup, as well. Less marshmallows, but no complaints from you.

“Well, magic does not have to make sense,” Lotor spoke with a hint of cockiness and, after taking a sip of his drink, he hummed in thought, “Needs a bit more of a...kick, no?”

“A...kick?” you raise da brow, carefully drinking a small portion before smacking your lips together, “Peppermint cocoa? Didn’t take you as a sweets kinda guy.”

“I adore sweets. Chocolate frogs are one of my favorite delicacies,” he admitted, hiding the fact that he also...collected those cards in the package as a hobby.

Lotor pulled out a bottle. A dark bottle, label unreadable in the dim room, then he popped the top off with one strong flick of his thumb. He poured a generous amount of what looked like milky coffee in his cup before offering the tip to you. Whatever it was, there was a whiff of sugary sweetness and, oh...that was  **alcohol**. Faint, but it was there, and you shot a bewildered look at him.

“The Prince drinks  _alcohol_? What would the Slytherin housemaster say?” you feigned shock and, even in the dark, you could see his glowing eyes roll at your words.

“Hush, you. Alcohol is commonly referred to ‘liquid courage,’ no?” to his delight, you held your drink up and he poured a small amount for now, “After seeing your... **flawless** bravery over that hole, I think some liquid courage would somewhat embolden you.”

You sipped. You sputtered. You stuck out your tongue, somehow thinking it would help get that ghastly bitter burn off your palette.

“Oh, this is - this is  _disgusting_!” and yet, you took another sip, maybe the second time around wouldn’t taste as bad, “How can you drink this stuff? Blegh…”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. Yes, this must’ve been your first drink, but in his mind, it was not strong at all. Still, seeing your blatant dislike of it, he brought his wand up and prepared to magically whisk away your drink and give you fresh hot cocoa. It was you who cradled your mug away from him, holding it like you were preserving a precious, rare golden apple.

“Oh? So, you  _DO_ like it, I see,” Lotor’s eyes cataloged the blush gracing your cheeks, either from embarrassment at playing keep-away or from the drink warming up your body.

“Now, I didn’t say that,” you leaned against him, placing all your weight on the sturdy Prince, “I should try it...a third time. And fourth. And fifth. Then I will give you my five-minute review of your peppermint hot cocoa.”

This was so dangerous, sneaking out this late, drinking alcohol, but it was giving you a sense of acceptance, of fun, hanging out with Lotor with no judgement from anyone. No student roles under a teacher’s gaze or homework to be done before noon or responsibilities other than caring for each other in the most spirited of company.  _Goodness, was he always this warm?_  You lifted his arm and tucked yourself against him, figuring double blankets would keep you two cozier longer throughout the night. .

“If you fall asleep, do  **not** drool on me. I will wake you, dear.”

* * *

 

Your eyes scanned the page, mouth silently reciting the spell so you could memorize it by heart. Though, with your previous attempts that came out for naught, you knew this was going to be difficult. It was almost as if your wand was purposely refusing to work with you. While the rest of the class was practicing with success, you glared with determination at the potted plant in front of you. Unblooming. It looked nearly dead, to be honest.

_“Morning dew, nightly rain_

_Bring this rose to bloom again.”_

Three flicks of your wand, each punctuated at the end of a verse, yet all the plant did was...wilt. And with it, so did your spirit. To your right, before you could even see his smarmy grin, Lotor hummed in amusement at your failed attempts. Rude. You saw out of the corner of your eye that his potted plant, well, blooming was too nice of a word. It was flourishing. Practically a mini rose bush now, orange of all ugly colors.

“Don’t laugh,” you pouted, trying not to take his mockery at heart and knowing this was just him being a little shit again, “I’m  _trying_.”  
  
“Maybe if you said it correctly, it would work. Here,” Lotor faced his already beautiful plant then cleared his throat, voice clear and loud, “ _Morning dew, nightly rain, bring this rose to bloom again.”_

It grew twice its size, nearly tipping the pot. You grumbled, a low “show off” muttered from your lips.

“Now, your turn,” he faced you, watching your every move, from the flick of your wrist to the posture you held, “Your voice must be loud and clear.”

Again, you mumbled, both at his instruction and this dumb plant that wasn’t listening to you. The Prince tsk’d, your behavior and discouragement making him cross his arms. This was stern Lotor now. Not quite the same from the forest, but close enough that if you didn’t heed his advice, he would definitely leave you to fail over and over again.

“Sit up. Do not slouch,” he watched you do as he commanded, “Hold your wand at a 45 degree angle near the plant’s base. Now,  **LOUD** and  _CLEAR_.”

“I don’t like raising my voice,” you finally admitted...stubbornly.

Lotor narrowed his eyes slightly at the excuse. He reached over and scooted the plant closer to you then lifted your chin up with a finger. His eyes didn’t miss the way you stiffened in your seat nor how you easily surrendered to one of his slender digits. For a quick second, his mind flashed to what else he could do to you with just a single finger.

“You do not have to be loud, then.  _Clear_. How will your wand hear you? How will the plant hear you? Now, try again.”

“Tch, now who is the pushy one, huh?”

“You could fail and lose house points. Your choice.”

“Bah! Fine, fine, just - don’t watch me.”

He wouldn’t watch you directly, but he was listening intently now, just to make sure you spoke the spell clearly. Or blow up your plant on accident. A few minutes passed and when you cheered a _“Yes, finally!”_ under your breath, he knew you got it to work on the 6th try. By HIS guidance, no less, but still, it was the results that mattered in the end. A nudge at his side and he raised a groomed brow at you, eyes obviously waiting for a sign of gratitude.

“I don’t like yellow roses. Can I change the colors?” you flipped through ahead of the book, going to the more advanced spells, and he had to stop himself from rubbing the headache forming at his temples.

 _Fool. Mumbling idiot_. You were going to accidentally change the color of your skin if you weren’t careful.

A strange thought crossed his mind then. Were you always this...imbecilic?

* * *

 

Lotor felt sick today. A cold, no doubt, or a fever? He wasn’t sure, but the tonic the nurse gave him only helped temper his body a little bit. The drapes were pulled together to keep his entire room dark and a thick layer of blankets covered his form. Oh, but he was breaking out a sweat now, his least favorite part about being ill. Aside from the migraines, of course.

The journal glowed a faint blue hue by his bedside, the light actually intensifying his headache. You were writing in it, most likely waiting for him to reply, but he was too aching to move any of his limbs. The sick Prince knew that a distraction would help him avert his mind from focusing on his soreness, yet part of him just wanted to...ugh, that brightness was getting on his blasted last nerve.

With all the strength he could summon, he grabbed the book and stuffed it inside the drawer. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Sleep and silence were his best cure for his shut-in self. Eyes drooping slowly, he buried his face into the lush pillow then willed his mind to shut up.  _For five minutes, just **five** , let the comforting arms of sleep embrace me_. Wish granted.

Though, he roused at the soft rapping of knuckles on his door. He had no idea how long he was knocked out. Could be an hour, could be a day. He wanted no visitors, so who dared…?

A turn of a knob and your face, as well as the hallways blinding light, leaked into the room. His silver brows knotted in annoyance and, with a peek from one eye, he tried to dig even more into his pillow to avoid you. Sick Lotor was an unhappy Lotor. A warning from Ezor when they had reluctantly let you in their wing and led you to the grumpy Prince’s private room. Your footsteps indicated you were right besides his bed, probably just looking down at him in pity. The thermos in your hand suddenly felt a little worthless, but you stood firm in your wavering thoughts.

“Hey, Lotor?” a rumbling grunt as a response, not the friendliest, but you understood his frustration, “Figured you were, uh...y’know, under the weather.”

“I am not  ** _sad_**. I am sick,” came his muffled reply, followed by a cough, “...And tired.  _Very_ tired.”

Yes, you know the wretched side effects of being sick. You may be going to a wizarding school, but illnesses still affected everyone. Why couldn’t magic whisk it away? Taking a seat at the edge of his bed, being mindful of his space and the fresh scent of mint wafting in the air, you offered him a soft pat pat on his elbow. Instantly, he cringed into himself, the touch both welcome and a little uncomfortable. You had intended to come and keep him company, perhaps tell him about what you learned in class today, yet all his body language pointed to one option: he wanted to be ALONE.

“Alright, alright, loud and clear,” you weren’t offended by his brusque words, well, maybe a little bit, “Here. Don’t know if you ate anything yet, but there’s some chicken soup in this. Generosity from the kitchen staff after they booted me out for sneaking in.”

You at least expected a chuckle, a quip of  _“I am surprised they did not turn YOU into soup,_ ” but nothing came. Placing the thermos on his bedside table, you headed for the door and, with one last glance back at him, you offered a soft smile.

“Get better soon.”

* * *

 

The illegal Love Potion was finished and a majority of the class was excited, rightfully so. Everyone was eager to know who their loved one was, their crush, and possibly even sneak a portion out to use on the object of their desires. But not him. He was here for the grade. Lotor adored the dark arts and, although not officially part of the curriculum in his other class, this was just another step into understanding why Love was the strongest curse of all.

And yet, you were shifting nervously in your seat. Hands neatly folded on the desk, knee shaking up and down insistently, and your eyes couldn’t even focus staring at ONE thing. He didn’t understand. The two of you use the same ingredients, so you must be getting the same perfect grade as him. Or perhaps...you, like the others, were curious about what the potion would reveal to you if you took a small whiff.

“Did you... _y’know,_ ” you asked vaguely, motioning to his simmering potion.

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

A moment of silence. You knew you had certain feelings for him, but pinpointing them to love or anything stronger than love was what really kept you uncertain. Friends? Best friends? Maybe...something  _more_? Should you ask him? Part of you wanted to, yet another side of you was actually happy with where you two were at now. You trust him. You trusted him quite a bit.

“Wanna do it together?” you asked, knowing there was a few minutes to spare before class started.

Lotor’s silence made you hesitate even more. Not because it was a yes or no answer, but because he was thinking about what he was going to experience. It was no matter of the heart that he already heavily desired you since that mirror showed him what the two of you  _ **could**_ be. His thoughts were invaded with you before, yet he couldn’t differentiate between him being a horny adolescent or an actual fool in love.

The Prince sent you a side glance, “Yes. Let us try.”

Both of you gently swept the smoke rising from the cauldron to your noses, preparing yourselves for the answers to the unknown.

Peppermint cocoa. Old library books. Fresh laden snow. Chicken pot pie. A...rose?

You brought a hand up to cover the lower half of your face, immediately knowing where all these scents were coming from. Or rather, who. You...love him? No. That couldn’t be. You didn’t even realize it! How could some liquidy goop know you better than  _you_? But...maybe on some degree, it was true. You love him enough to be such close, vulnerable friends with each other. Enough that you wished his sickness would erase completely from his body that one night. Enough that you willingly leap into his welcoming arms, despite the fear clouding your mind.

The realization...well, it brought you two things. One, a peace of mind now that your question was answered. And two, you found that the damn beating organ in your chest wanted to ask him about these conflicting thoughts. You swallowed a thick gulp lodged in your throat, sparing a meek look at your partner sitting idly besides you. Did he smell...something foul?

Lotor’s face was twisted in utter  **disgust**.

Yes, he knew what his nose would pick up. Chicken noodle soup, white carnations, misty lake water, oak trees, and finely-ground powdered moon stone. With every scent, a new memory flashed in his mind, from that dangerous adventure at the forest lake to the soup he gratefully consumed shortly after you closed his bedroom door. The memories...it made his heart fond, his heart yearn to hold you again, but the smell. All of it mixed together?

It made him want to  _puke_ on the spot.

Lotor covered his nose with his hand to block anymore of that potion from reaching his brain. He knew you were staring at him, waiting for an answer,  _anything_ , and he knew you were not blind. The growing friendship, the late night cuddling, the hugs, the sentimental time spent together. You must’ve suspected something between you two, some fine line between the moments of vulnerability you shared with each other.

“Lotor, did you - “

Yet, he turned away from you, avoiding looking at you in the eyes, just as the professor waltzed into the classroom. Maybe the smell was too strong for him? Yes,  _yes_ , that was a logical conclusion. The potency, when taken too much, can cause nausea. Right? You swear you read that somewhere in the book. It must be the cause of his sudden reaction.

Because if it wasn’t that, then everything else pointed to the other option, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to accept  ** _that_**.  

* * *

 

Lotor didn’t speak to you for the next few days. Sometimes, you thought you saw a glance of him turn a corner. Sometimes, he was hastily shoveling his food in his mouth to leave abruptly. Sometimes, he would spare you a quick, stoic glance before turning his attention to his books. Either way, there was no right time to talk, no perfect moment with his odd evasiveness lodging between you two.

Then again, you tried to see this as openly as possibly. Perhaps he was just busy. Tests and finals were coming up and you, too, were preoccupied with other studies.

“Hey, Lotor, wait up,” you called out to him this time, jogging to catch up before he entered his class.

“Hm? Yes, dear? What is it?”

“Did you wanna head to Madam Puddifoot’s this weekend? After tests and everything. Figure we could use a break, eat some cake, the good stuff!”

Lotor didn’t meet your gaze nor your enthusiasm. Instead, he glanced off to stare at the floor, internally debating something bouncing around that cluttered skull of his. He was a man of few words, even fewer when concerning personal emotions, yet lately he couldn’t even organize his thoughts in a coherent order. There was something bugging him, something  **deep** in his skin, and as your friend, part of him realized it would wedge an awkwardness between you two.

“Ah...no, I apologize,” eyes still glued to the floor, Lotor missed the downtrodden dip of your smile, “Perhaps another time, hm? When things have quieted down and students have gone home for break.”

Yes. Yes, a good diversion, one he didn’t quite think all the way through.

“Oh, yeah! Sure, good idea. Less people would be overcrowding the shop. Just...y’know, the journal. You know where I am at.”

Were you always this...this  ** _easy_** to push around? Odd. He never really noticed it before. 

A nod of his head, he turned and left you standing there alone. Not even a goodbye? He really must be stressed.

* * *

 

Lotor was feeling...angry.  _Frustrated_ , and not in a way he could relieve himself through some private time alone. Yes, in the confines of his dutiful patrol across the Slytherin wing, he still thought of you, of forcefully kissing you against the wall. Biting your delicate neck with little control until he had his fill of moans and screams. Even pinning your wrists at your lower back as he  ** _fucked_**  you from behind made his groin stir in want.

All these images distracted him, but there was something...missing. He didn’t feel love. It was just lust. Just a need to climax, to dump his load into you over and over again. Knowing these thoughts only got worse over time left a bad taste in his mouth. He never wanted to use you for anything, least of all sex. His body wanted you, but his heart...his heart was unsure.

What changed? When did the line between lust and love divert? And why, when he thought of you, did he feel... _nothing_ anymore? 

He would even go as far as to say there was a smidgen of contempt.  _That’s_ what was making him irritated. His heart was slowly beginning to dislike you, dislike your stubbornness, your pushiness, even your clumsy nature was grating on his nerves. All those times of you being a fool were true, through and through. You were oblivious to dangers. Not at all patient. Too dim-witted to see your true self, so you relied on others - relied on  _ **him**_ \- to bring it out of you.

It was annoying, yes. He was not someone to seek attention from. Yet, he couldn’t just say this to you. You’d get upset, cry about it, no doubt. Lotor just didn’t feel the want to deal with your wayward self again. He felt as if he was spending TOO much of his time catering to you and it no longer left a good, fluttery feeling in his chest. In fact, it left him feeling emotionally drained.

What he thought was friendship, or something  _more_ , was actually neither of those.

Perhaps that was why he still hasn’t taken that journal out from the drawer.

* * *

 

The two of you were drifting apart.

You finally managed to have at least a few minutes with him. Albeit, yes, it was by pure chance that your curious exploring led you to the same secretive balcony deep within the castle grounds. But, now that you were here, it felt a little awkward to be staring at his broad back. How do you start this? It hurt to realize you were hesitating talking to your best friend.

You were concerned for him, deeply concerned, but how do you say this without saying it?

“Did you follow me?”

The timber of his voice was a little deeper than you remembered. Taking careful steps, you walked up besides him and leaned on the stone railing with your hands hanging off the edge. Stiff, you were both stiff, or maybe it was the trick of the chilly night. The air didn’t feel as warm as it did before.

“No way, how do I know you didn’t follow  _me_ , huh?” the accusatory tone didn’t fall on deaf ears, but Lotor didn’t return the usual amusement.

“You should not be out this late. It is past curfew hours.”

It was hard to keep your mood from turning sour at his terse answers, but you had to remind yourself that this was Lotor. Your best friend. You missed him, even this moody side of him. Perhaps another joke would help? Maybe some light hearted teasing?

“Oh, c’mon, classes are over. What’s wrong with a little midnight adventure? Last one too exciting for you?”

Nothing. Not even a  _blink_.

“I know what you are trying to do,” Lotor’s shoulders slumped and finally, he looked at you straight in the eyes, “I suggest you stop while you are ahead.”

The words spilled out of your mouth faster than you could stop them, “Lotor, I’m just trying to help.”

“Did I  **ask** for it?”

“No, but - damn it, you helped me. Why can’t I do the same for you?”

 _Annoyance_. That was all you could see flit across his face and it stung deep within your chest. You tried to put on your best pleading expression, something to show that you really were worried about him, about his distant self, about his walls being rebuilt brick by brick. This wasn’t like him, not at all.

“People usually help out of the goodness of their heart, not as some sort of debt to repay. ”

“That’s  _not_ what I meant. I just - you’re acting different.”

Again, wrong words to say. You knew it, you felt the sudden shift in the air. Saw the way his jaw clenched in restrained control and how his eyes hooded low in a paralyzing glare. Pushing, you were pushing _too much,_  and Lotor was getting very uncomfortable. And, as usual, with his discomfort came the need to...protect himself. Retaliate with words to disarm you completely.

“Oh? And you are unhappy with this ‘different’ side of me? Is that why you seek to help change me back?”

“No! Of course not, Lotor. When I wasn’t myself, you showed me - look, I don’t know what’s going on with you - “

“No. You do not. Perhaps you should have been more observant,” he sneered at you, hitting hard at the fact you were an airhead most of the times.

You brushed off his comment, but it left a lingering ache in your heart, “Or you could just -  _ **WE**_ could just talk. Just one night, get whatever it is off your chest and I’ll do the same.”

“No.”

You anticipated the answer before even offering the suggestion, especially knowing deep down that neither of you would be comfortable with speaking so openly about emotions. Foolish, you weren’t thinking ahead, thinking about what you were saying before letting it slip from your tongue. Talking to him like this was insufferably frustrating. It was wearing down your patience, HIS patience, but your stubborn persistence is what would tip the breaking point. You were never aware of this.

“Then what do you want to do, Lotor?”

“Is it not obvious?”

Again, his voice was being degrading and part of you wanted to scoff at him.

“I came here by  **myself** for a reason.”

You could at least piece two and two together, even if the sharp edges left biting wounds on your skin.

“...You want to be alone,” you finished for him, sad you had to say those words out loud for both of you to hear.

Lotor needed time to sort out... _whatever_ this was. And, judging by the way he averted every single one of your questions, this had nothing to do with you. Nothing you COULD do, except give him the space he needed unless you want to find yourself facing the brunt of his cold shoulder and burning words again.

You hated this feeling, this feeling of being rejected.  _Shunned_.

“Fine. I’ll give you your space.”

“Thank you.”

Lotor sure didn’t sound truly thankful, but at this point, you didn’t much care. If isolation was his way to handle things, then you would let him do it. Even if it cost you the friendship and whatever feelings evolved between you two. Something that neither of you got the chance to further explore. That revelation made the pit in your stomach sink in sadness.

The hot, angry tears of frustration wouldn’t stop falling down your cheeks as you turned and marched away from him.


End file.
